Posted by Thror HammerSong, Barbaric Warlord of Rage on December 05, 1999 at 18:41:54:
Cursing in vain, I paced through the dwarf forest, well-named since the small trees were hardly larger then I am. As I pushed myself toward the eastern road, my eyes could only see the red haze of hatred that I had for the Witches that would slay my brothers and sisters. Never would they know the purity of the gods, or the hours spent in the forges to create us, only to have the rare few steal the craft that they would weave in the heavens. Do they think I do not know of the betrayal they brought to the ancient ancestors that would forge from the earth? Strange that the ones who bring such bloodshed are so soon to forget. I don't forget. Eastern road was less then traveled that day. It was ghostly. Dead weeds, and dirt carried by an angry wind would dance away from my firm step. At times I would spot a buzzard circling a corpse to the side of the road, dead elf's, the dark armor of a black knight, even the toppled figure of a massive giant. I would never understand why the Arbiters did not spend their worthless vigil along this road rather then in the city where they felt safe, even at home. Faintly, I could see the dance of flames atop the battlement walls of the city Galadon. Yes, the torches carried by the city watch. I would take my rest there, then continue to the Tower by boat. How I hated the rivers. Many a dwarf would drown by the slight topple of a wretched boat, or the sea snakes that were quick to strike over the wooden panels. Their bite as poisonous as the wine that the ebony-skinned drow consume. Still, my purpose and determination could be unhindered by the choice that was given to me. Defeat would build day after day, as the village huts would be torn asunder. Lions would shred the skin of the young giant defending the homes of the clan. Rams and falcons would strike even quicker, bringing a mystical hell to the homes of the villagers. I was trusted leadership, and this day, I would change the tide of this war, if it meant my life, I would change this Battle. I neared the gates of the city, were I was promptly halted and searched by a guard wearing the standard armor of the watch. "Halt Dwarf, and state your name!" His voice was deep, like the growl of a bear, still I needed rest. This city was all that stood in my way from reaching the Tower, and with luck I could be at the Tower in the early morn' bathing in the blood of the Sorcerers who studied the art of theft from the Gods. After a thorough search, I was granted permission to enter the city. The streets were littered with debris. Torn parchments, broken glass, even stains of blood could be seen by the faint lights of the taverns and guilds that illuminated the streets. I passed a small alley to the north, hardly giving it a second glance…that was my first mistake. Pain lurched through my spine, the force alone knocking me to my knees. A large, clawed paw batted me to the side, knocking me up against the stone walls of the warrior's guild. Cursing, I staggered to my feet, finding myself face to face with the shaggy mane of an enraged lion. "Damned warrior, put yer rusted blade te use en help me out!" I bellowed, towards the large guildguard on my left. The lion was quick to leap, bloody claws outstretched toward my face. It was all I could do to duck and strike it just below the ribs, before it fell upon me. Thumb arched, knuckles against my palm. I struck, and tumbled under the lion as it crashed to the ground. Even I was amazed at how successful I was in striking a critical blow, that would stun the lion. "So quick to dodge the physical, but you know nothing of the mystical young dwarf." A slender drow, with runes sewn into his velvet robes held an outstretched arm toward me. A roar of hatred flooded through my mouth, as I reached my fingers toward his ebony throat. My hatred alone caused his spell to unravel, inflicting minor pain to his fragile body. He winced, giving me the time to wrap my fingers around his neck, and strike him in the chest. "Yer te die Mordrack!!" I cursed his name, recognizing the runes upon his robes. "I'll not have ye strikin' me kin…." Fire enveloped me, searing pain that could only be described as thousands of needles gently ripping my skin from my soul. From the corner of my eye I could see another robed figure, shorter then even myself, chanting the soft words of magic while pointing at me with outstretched fingers. Yet not before I struck the drow beneath his ribs. Beard singed, I rushed toward the gnome, sending him backwards as my fists struck him time and time again. His face became twisted with fear and marred with blood, his eyes began to roll as his small frame was pummeled by well placed blows. Zhaeliyn was feared more for the power he had aquired while studying at the Tower, rather then his ability to stand toe to toe with a trained warrior, let alone the Leader of the Village. Another well placed strike, and the three sorcerers lay sprawled on the city street, slumbering as blood flowed from my wounds, and pain rippled through my body. Faces stared at me from the nearby taverns, and the cry of the city watch could be heard as battlement guards were called to arms. I had to reach the Tower, else my War would be hindered by the Arbiters and their questionings. Darting through a narrow alley, I came upon a road that lay just north of the dirt marred, Murky River. I stumbled through a couple shops, looking for a boatmaker. My anger was fueled even further when I came upon a two drow who appeared out of thin air before my very eyes. One was clad in velvet robes of black, with a humble look upon his face that was rare to see upon the ebony skin of a drow. The second was clad in black robes as well, though his robes carried archaic runes of power that could faintly be seen from a distance. I turned tail and darted toward the battlements, rushing past guardsmen as they yelled for me to stop. The drow appeared once again right before me, staggering me backwards. Cursing, I raced for the southern battlements and up a narrow road back towards the river. Once there I found a boat secured, and leapt within it, hoping to reach the tower before the two drow found me in the murky waters. A black mass of runed robes found me instead. Second mistake. Let your hatred rise and your foes know your thirst! Fire raced through my blood and red hazed my vision, I could not tell if it was blood from my lip that I could taste, or the blood of my foes. Still, my heart raced twice as fast, my senses became clearer and my only purpose in life was defined. Destroy these robed, black-skinned elves before me, or die trying.
The wind grew chill, and the sun faded behind the mountains of Mortorn. Still I would not alter my pace until I reached the accursed tower of the damned mages. So disciplined are they that they would slay the mighty Athrakagar, laughing as he would be found the next eve, run through by his own pike. I would remember that day, not a sorcerer in sight would forget it as well. If I was not quick to beat them with the mithril maces Grime was so kind to forge me, I would at least send them with a shattered forearm, or some crushed ribs. Let's see how they would utter their magics when blood was wheezing through their lungs.